


December Sun

by lovetincture



Series: Something Wicked [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author considers this noncanonical, Demon Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: The thing about demons is they don't get older—they don't age or die. The thing about humans is that they do.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Something Wicked [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534619
Comments: 23
Kudos: 191





	December Sun

**Author's Note:**

> You can consider this a noncanonical story set in the distant future of [Ruby Red and Copper Bitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307676). Basically: I occasionally like to write fic of my own fic.

Will’s vision had been the first thing to go. After a lifetime of a certain kind of hard living, he’d assumed it would be his knees—playing pincushion to a family of demons and chasing down murder suspects (later, victims) will do that to a person—but in the end it was his eyes that gave out first. He frowns at himself in the mirror over the pair of bifocals. Hannibal stands beaming behind him, looking just the same as he had the day they’d met.

People mistook Hannibal for Will’s son these days—he didn’t think that would ever stop rankling.

“I look like an old man.”

“You look charming. Do you like those?”

Will shrugs, taking the glasses off. “I guess. Look, it’s all the same to me, Hannibal. Let’s just buy something and go.”

The sales rep who’s been hovering off to the side, waiting for them to make a decision for the last half hour looks relieved at Will’s suggestion, but Hannibal isn’t convinced.

He purses his lips, considering. He plucks the glasses out of Will’s hands and takes down another frame off the rack, one with simple black rims that gleam faintly in the light. “How about these?”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

Will doesn’t bother putting them on. The world almost looks better with a faint blur settled over it like a haze.

* * *

“Why didn’t you want me to become like you?”

“We are what we are. A human can no more become a demon than he could become an angel after death—any belief to the contrary is easily attributable to a misunderstanding of the Abrahamic religions.”

“Hannibal.” Will fixes him with a level stare. “That might have worked on me when I was twelve, but I know better than that now. I know _you_ better than that. There are always ways and means.”

Whatever spark he finds flees quickly. He sighs, exhausted, and settles back against the pillows when Hannibal holds the top cover open for him. He tires so easily these days.

Hannibal tucks him in, an echo of the way he used to care for Will when he was a child. It’s funny, almost, how all things come around again. Or maybe funny isn’t the word. Maybe it’s sad.

Will coughs, a rattling, raspy thing that multiplies in the air until it grows into a hacking fit. Hannibal hands him a glass of water and holds it steady while Will drinks. Neither of them mention Will’s trembling hands.

Hannibal sets the water glass on the bedside table, still half full. He readjusts Will’s covers and takes off his glasses, folding them and setting them next to the water, all things in their place. He sits on the bed and smooths Will’s hair away from his face. “Maybe I didn’t want to miss this—not a second of it.”

“Me dying?” Will asks. They don’t shy away from it. Death’s never been unspeakable in this house.

“You living, through all of it. The births and deaths, the sorrow and pain.”

Will smiles, the barest twitch of a lip. “You gave me plenty of that.”

“I did, didn’t I? I hope that’s not all.”

“It wasn’t.”

He coughs again, a worse coughing fit this time, a bad one. More water. If he keeps this up, Hannibal will fetch the pills from the medicine cabinet—the ones that make him sleep—but he doesn’t want to sleep just yet.

He struggles upright, pushes himself up

He doesn’t find the thought of dying frightening. It would be hard to, having lived with a nightmare for so many of his years. Still, there’s something unsettling in the idea of going, of stopping. Leaving his body like a watch that’s finally wound down, vacant and desolate. Finished, finally.

The idea of being _done_ appeals.

Some nights he goes to sleep alone, curling up under fresh sheets with early evening light still peeking around the edges of their curtains. He sleeps more than Hannibal. Hannibal never did quite resume a normal human sleep schedule after his return to hell, and Will sleeps more than he doesn’t these days.

Hannibal would stay with him, he knows. Would hold him all through the night, watching wakeful as Will twitches and turns. Will doesn’t ask him to. He gets hot easily now—something to do with one of the medications he’s on, probably—and the radiator-warm heat of Hannibal’s body keeps him awake.

Tonight he asks.

“Stay. Get in here with me.”

Hannibal doesn’t need to be told twice.

He strips off his clothing with careful, methodical precision, exactly the way he has for the last seventy-odd years. Will watches with open admiration, not bothering to hide how much he still loves this man, how much he adores him with every fiber of his being, despite everything. Despite, because. There’s no point in hiding anymore, no secrets between them. There hasn’t been for a long time.

When Hannibal is down to bare skin, Will holds the covers open in invitation. Hannibal slides in beside him, careful not to jostle Will’s bad hip as the mattress depresses beneath his weight.

They fit together neatly. Hannibal wraps his arms around Will and pulls him close, snugging Will back against his chest. He twines their legs together, and Will closes his eyes, relishing the warm press of skin on skin. He rubs his legs against Hannibal’s to feel the downy drag of hair against his calves. He breathes deep, comforted by the familiar smell of the two of them together, soap and skin, and the light tang of sulfur that goes where Hannibal goes.

“Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

“I don’t know,” Hannibal says, hooking his chin over Will’s shoulder. “I’ve never missed anything before. I’ve never loved something the way I love you.”

“How do you love me?” Will knows, but he wants to hear it. He feels like indulging himself tonight.

“Ruinously. To distraction.” Hannibal nuzzles his nose into the nape of Will’s neck, little puffs of breath tickling the fine hairs there. “I would bathe the world in blood for love of you, topple kingdoms at your feet.”

Will sighs. He closes his eyes and lets himself picture it, Hannibal dark as night, the both of them stained with blood, victorious. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

“I wonder if I’ll miss you. If it’s anything but curtains after all this ends—cut to black, thanks for coming, drive safe on the way home.”

“Would you like me to tell you?”

Will shakes his head. “Nah. I think I’d rather find out for myself.”

He hears the smile in Hannibal’s voice, the pleased note of pride that’s never quite left. The years have been unable to bleach it away. “An adventurous spirit. It’s one of the things I have loved about you.”

“I love you,” Will says. He yawns wide enough to crack his jaw. “I’m so tired.”

He fights to keep his eyes open, but they have their own ideas. His eyelashes flutter shut no matter how many times he forces them open.

Hannibal kisses his hair, a lingering brush of lips. “Sleep, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Will murmurs a sleepy something, settling back against Hannibal with a soft sigh. His breathing slows into the deep, even rhythm of sleep. It grows slower and slower until it stops completely.

**Author's Note:**

> You may tire of me  
> As our December sun is setting  
> 'Cause I'm not who I used to be  
> -"Brothers on a Hotel Bed"
> 
> Come find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lovetincture).


End file.
